


Fractis Alis

by unanimous_anonymous



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal, Anal Fingering, Anal Play, Anal Sex, Anatomy, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Bottom Castiel/Top Dean Winchester, Caretaking, Castiel/Dean Winchester Wing Kink, Coming Out, Confessions, Dean Winchester Has Anger Issues, Dean Winchester is Bad at Feelings, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Hurt Castiel (Supernatural), Hurt/Comfort, Illustrations, Injured Castiel (Supernatural), Internalized Homophobia, Loss of Virginity, Love Confessions, M/M, Misunderstandings, My First Smut, Nipple Licking, Nipple Play, Post-Leviathans (Supernatural), Pushy Bottoms, Sensual Play, Sensuality, Sexual Tension, Smut, Wing Grooming, Wing Kink, Wing Oil, Wing anatomy, Winged Castiel (Supernatural), Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:14:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24124975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unanimous_anonymous/pseuds/unanimous_anonymous
Summary: [This fic takes place after Leviathan!Cas when tensions are high and Cas's guilt is thick. Cas appears in Dean's motel room, injured after an altercation with the angels. Dean plays nursemaid.]“Uh, Cas,” Dean cleared his throat. "How come I can still see your wings? I usually never see them for more than a couple’a seconds at a time.” Dean peered over Cas’s shoulder, letting the washcloth lag over his collarbone as curiosity got the better of him.Cas took in a sharp breath and retreated just slightly from Dean’s proximity. “I seem to be having trouble stowing them away entirely. My apologies, they became slightly damaged in the altercation.”Dean furrowed his brow. “What do you mean,‘entirely?’”“What you see is only their shadow; not their physical form. I keep them in a different plane of existence, but when they need tending to it becomes… more difficult to keep them hidden.” Cas’s body language was steely, as usual, and hard to read.“You mean what I’ve been seeing is just some heavenly jacked-up angel-juice projection? You have actual, physical wings, like with feathers and crap?” Dean raised his eyebrows in amazement, but Cas seemed tense.
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 50
Kudos: 802
Collections: The Destiel Fan Survey Favs Collection





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my very first fic EVER; I have no idea if anyone will even read it. Please be kind but don't be afraid to leave me constructive criticism; I want to hear from you! 
> 
> I've shipped Destiel since forever but the season 15 coronavirus hiatus pushed me to finally publish something. Just trying not to go crazy out here ~~~
> 
> This is very much a hurt/comfort wingfic. Mild-to-moderate angst but a happy ending (in more than one way, wink-wink). I know there are a thousand wingfics out there but hopefully this one hits on someone's favorite tropes.
> 
> Hope you enjoy :)

“Cas.. you there? Look, buddy, I know it’s late but—“ Dean didn’t get the chance to finish his prayer before he heard the familiar whoosh of wings over his shoulder.

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean raised his head, turning toward the voice addressing him. “Punctual as always, Cas.” The ready grin hanging on the corner of his lips dissolved as soon as he faced the angel. Cas drooped before him, left shoulder sagging as he cradled his neck. Bruises and cuts pocked his face, dirt smeared across the familiar tan of his trench coat. A pained squint met Dean’s wide eyes before darting toward the stained motel carpet. Two shadowy forms lurched behind Cas’s shoulders; restless and haggard hints of his wings in another dimensional plane, not quite tucked away.

Dean caught his breath, heart pounding as he rushed toward the slumping angel to catch him on his way down. “Easy, Cas! What the hell—what happened?” A quiet yelp sounded out as Dean caught Cas under the arms. He all but carried Cas to the edge of the creaky mattress, setting him down as delicately as he could. Still supporting Cas’s top half, Dean knelt to the floor to scrutinize his friend’s wounds. “C’mon, talk to me,” Dean prodded urgently. 

Cas opened one bloodshot eye and gripped the edge of the bed below him. “Angels. Impressing a warning upon me.” 

Dean’s stomach turned and grew hot. “Your own brothers did this to you?”

“I am no longer their brother. Not in Heaven’s eyes.” Cas coughed and gripped his side, droplets of blood clinging to his lip.

Dean set his jaw, eyes dark. His hands clutched Cas’s sleeve like talons. 

“Dean. This is not your fight.” Cas’s interruption brought Dean out of his internal monologue— he’d been silent longer than he realized. Cas was in pain, and it went deeper than his bruised ribs. Dean’s anger would have to wait.

Dean took a stilted breath. “Let’s get you patched up,” he muttered, beginning to search him in earnest. Dean helped ease the two tattered coats off of Cas’s shoulders, followed by the tie, dress shirt, and shoes, accomplished mostly by Dean when the angel found he couldn’t bend. Cas’s skin was a shade of deep plum on most of the right half of his torso. He seemed to be breathing with a bit of a wheeze, and Dean knew his ribs had likely taken a beating. Possibly a collapsed lung. A gash along the side of his neck was seeping fresh blood and didn’t stop even after Dean gingerly cleaned it with a washcloth. 

“Cas I gotta stitch this up,” Dean said, pulling the desk chair over to the bed. “Not that I mind helping out, but why don’t you just put some of your mojo to use and heal yourself?”

Cas stared at the awful floral wallpaper behind Dean and winced every so often as the washcloth dragged across his torn flesh. “My grace is weakened at the moment. After I heard you praying and flew here, I only have about enough left to serve as pain relief.” 

“Then why don’t you put yourself out of your misery? If I was beat up the way you are I’d have already downed a fifth of Jack.” Dean didn’t stop his ministrations as he talked, but when Cas didn’t reply, he leaned back to look him in the eye. Cas only held his stare with the peeling yellow roses on the wallpaper. Dean frowned. “Cas, look at me— this isn’t your fault. Punishing yourself isn’t going to fix anything.” 

Cas wheezed into a weighty pause and replied with a voice like nails. “Dean, I killed hundreds of my brothers and sisters. I deserved what they did to me.” His voice caught sharply in his throat toward the end. Dean’s stomach sank; he was all too familiar with that particular brand of self-loathing.

“You weren’t yourself, buddy. You thought you were doing the right thing.” Dean paused, uncertain. He wasn’t good with words, never had been. He couldn’t just chuck Cas on the shoulder and offer a philosophical line like he might have when teenaged Sammy was having girl problems. Instead, he took two long steps to the mini-fridge in the corner and grabbed a couple of beers like they might be the antidote to stilted confessions. He cracked their caps off with his ring and pushed one into Cas’s bruised hands before killing the neck of his own bottle. Cas seemed unaware of the proffered drink.

Dean breathed deeply and continued. “If this were me, you wouldn’t let me suffer at my own hand, and you know it. What kind of a friend would I be if I let you sit here and tear yourself apart over something you can’t change?” Cas darted his eyes up toward him and Dean saw them glisten a little too wetly before he looked away again. Bile rose up in Dean’s throat. He took his place in the desk chair once more and grasped the angel’s uninjured arm at the elbow. “Cas, just do it for me, I’m begging you.” 

A small sigh, brow drawn together tightly, Cas brought his hand up to his own chest. Dean watched a warm, weak light reach tendrils into his skin as Cas shifted and seemed to un-tense a little. The rattling in his chest loosened and Dean suspected he may have underestimated his healing abilities. Dean let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding in. 

“That’s better, buddy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is longer and features the wing stuff. Liiiiittle more angst, but I promise we'll get where we're going.
> 
> Drop a kudos if you liked something! :D


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Dean, I told you, angels only groom each other under very intimate circumstances. I shouldn’t have let you touch them.” Cas looked both ashamed and somehow sad. 
> 
> Dean raised his brows in understanding. “You mean…it’s like…sexual?” 
> 
> Cas sighed deeply. “Yes, it usually is. Our wings are very sensitive; it’s hard for it not to be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no beta, all my errors are my own. 
> 
> Get ready for a struggling Castiel. Those pesky vessel urges...

Dean finished stitching Cas’ neck as the angel nursed his beer, grace depleted enough to appreciate the taste again. Dean had patched the other, smaller injuries before he caught a glimpse of the shadows behind the angel again. They seemed to shudder and try to stretch, but flinched and quieted against Cas’s back. 

“Uh, Cas,” Dean cleared his throat. "How come I can still see your wings? I usually never see them for more than a couple’a seconds at a time.” Dean peered curiously over Cas’s shoulder, letting the washcloth lag over his collarbone as curiosity got the better of him. 

Cas took in a sharp breath and retreated just slightly from Dean’s proximity. “I seem to be having trouble stowing them away entirely. My apologies, they became slightly damaged in the altercation.” 

Dean furrowed his brow. “What do you mean, _'entirely?’_ ”

“What you see is only their shadow; not their physical form. I keep them in a different plane of existence, but when they need tending to it becomes… more difficult to keep them hidden.” Cas’s body language was steely, as usual, and hard to read. 

“You mean what I’ve been seeing is just some heavenly jacked-up angel-juice projection? You have actual, physical wings, like with feathers and crap?” Dean raised his eyebrows in amazement, but Cas seemed tense. 

“Yes, I have feathers and…crap. It’s…not unlike the anatomy of bird wings.” 

Dean practically bounced, oblivious to Cas’s mounting discomfort. “Well that’s freakin’ awesome, Cas, why don’t you ever show them off? If they got hurt lemme patch them up, too.” 

“No.” Cas was a little too quick. “No, I—I can take care of them myself.” 

“Dude, I’ve seen how big their shadows are, I bet you can’t even reach everything without your mojo, especially now. Don’t be an ass, Just let me help.” 

Cas paused and seemed to consider this. “Dean, thank you for offering to help, I—really shouldn’t. It can be somewhat…overwhelming.”

“Cas. I’ve _literally_ been to Hell and back. I can handle it.” Dean raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms in a challenge. 

Sighing deeply, Cas aborted his unspoken _I didn’t mean for you_ and considered the stitches covering his skin. He would need help. Castiel was nothing if not self-controlled— he could manage.

“Fine.”

Cas stood from the bed and positioned himself a few feet away from his spectator. Dean blinked, felt a strong gust of air hit his face, and refocused his eyes to find two dark, iridescent masses settling before him. It took a moment for Dean to process what he was seeing. The wings seemed at first to be a pure absence of light—completely black and void in the dim motel lighting. It was only when he saw them quiver, almost breathing, that he saw hints of green and blue flicker across the lustrous surface of inky feathers. Suddenly the forelimbs stretched, extending from wall-to-wall, shivering as they reached their full span and folding softly back into themselves with the whisper of shuffling cards. 

“Dean, are you alright?” Cas jarred Dean out of his reverie, where he discovered his mouth had been ajar. He turned his attention to Cas in bewilderment. “Cas, I—this is insane. They’re unbelievable—” Dean swallowed hard and cleared his throat, coming back to himself slightly. He failed to catch the incredulity Cas would’ve met him with had he been paying attention. 

“They’re quite disordered at the moment. I usually keep them much more presentable.” Cas looked mortified to be seen in his state. Dean rose to his feet and approached him like a stray cat. “Cas, dude, they’re awesome.” Nearing closer, Dean noticed the debris caught between feathers and mud caked along the arches, as if these muscular appendages had broken a fall. “They just need a little spit-shine and they’ll be good as new.” 

Cas grimaced. “Please don’t spit on my wings, Dean.” 

Dean belly-laughed. “Just a figure of speech. We’ll get you fixed up.” As he spoke Dean stretched out his itching fingers to correct a feather. Before he made contact Cas pulled back and sucked in a breath, looking up warily through his eyelashes. “Dean, grooming angels’ wings are somewhat… problematic. Preening is usually reserved for very intimate situations. No human has even seen them in their full form in millennia—it’s not generally acceptable.”

Dean pulled his hands back in a show of respect. “Hey man, I don’t want to step on any toes here. But you need help. We’ve never been ones to follow protocol anyway. Angels and humans aren’t even supposed to form friendships, and look at us; you’re my best friend.” Dean had meant to sound practical and paired it with a shrug, but Cas swelled at the title he’d been given and was a little more receptive. 

“Okay, Dean. Just a little.” Cas was still tense, but relented and sat on the edge of the bed again, resting the long tips of his wings across the bedspread. Dean quickly went to ring out the washcloth and get the small bucket he’d seen under the cabinet earlier. Calling out from the bathroom, Dean said: “Hey Cas, there’s soap in here, would that be okay on your…feathers?” It was still a little surreal to ask that question. “Yes, that would be fine,” came the reply. Dean grabbed the sample bottle and squirted a little into the bucket, filling the rest with water he’d run in the sink until it felt warm against his fingers. He mixed it with his hand until the bubbles sailed around and collected against his forearm. 

When Dean rounded the doorway into the bedroom again he found Cas fidgeting with his back turned to him, wings arranged across the bed. He froze a second to take it in before breathing deeply and setting his instruments on the desk beside him. Cas jumped a little, hearing Dean behind him. He forgot how poor his senses were when his grace was this low. “Okay Cas, I’m just gonna get some of this gunk off of them to start. Let me know if I hurt you I guess?” Cas grunted in reply. Taking that as assent, dean edged onto the bed, taking care not to disturb the wings that seemed to own most of the space. Sitting up on his knees, Dean plucked a dried leaf from between the short feathers near the arch of Cas’s right wing. Cas stayed completely still, so Dean continued. 

After Dean had made a neat little pile of dead flora on the bedside table, he eased off the bed to get the warm washcloth. “Good so far buddy?” he checked in. 

“Yes, Dean, I’m fine.” 

“Okay, I’m gonna try to get some of that mud off.” Dean returned to his place and gingerly swiped across a few caked feathers, unsure if he would come across bruises to his wings at this stage. Cas didn’t seem to be in pain, though, and the mud was dried and would take more work than a few gentle strokes. Finally, Dean began cleaning in earnest and steadied his free hand against Cas’s shoulder while he worked. 

Cas was tense under Dean’s fingers. He kept his face turned away from the man behind him and had his knees tucked under his chin, hands wringing each other around his shins. Every pass of the washcloth wound Cas tighter like a coil ready to spring loose. Finally, Dean combed his fingers through some long feathers toward the base of Cas’s left wing and heard him take in a quick breath. 

“Easy there, Cas, you okay?” Dean said, concerned he’d misstepped. 

“It’s fine,” Cas grunted, waving a hand. “I’m fine. Keep going.” 

“Alright…” Dean said under his breath. He went back to arranging the disheveled quills. “You really did a number on these ones at the bottom.”

“Secondaries.”

“What?”

“Those feathers are called secondaries. They and the primaries can get that way when I have a…rough landing,” Cas explained through a clenched jaw.

“Which ones are the primaries?” They all looked basically the same to Dean. 

“The long ones.” Cas stretched the tips of his wings to illustrate his point. “Primaries, secondaries, and tertials are layered overtop by rows of shorter feathers called coverts.” Dean ran fingers over these rows as Castiel delivered his clipped avian anatomy lesson. “Huh. Who knew there were names for all of this. So which came first, the chicken or the angel?” Dean grinned unseen at his joke but Cas took it literally…as always. 

“Angels. Chickens can’t even fly for more than a few hundred feet, Dean.”

Dean chuckled and shook his head, roughly sweeping his fingers through the tuft of feathers at the apex of Cas’s left wing. Cas audibly gasped and jerked his head back. “Shit, Cas I’m sorry, are you okay?” Cas darted up off the bed and cleared his throat, wings sweeping in line behind him. Dean followed him to the corner of the room, reaching out in question. “I’m sorry Cas, I didn’t mean to—“ Cas cut him off. “I’m fine Dean, but I don’t think we should continue.” Dean pulled at him until Cas turned to face him. Dean saw dark, parted lips, a deep red flush from his face down to his chest, and a bewildered expression. He looked down to where his hand gripped Cas’s forearm and felt the goosebumps under his fingers. 

“Dean, I told you,” Cas grated out, “angels only groom each other under very intimate circumstances. I shouldn’t have let you touch them.” Cas looked both ashamed and somehow sad. 

Dean raised his brows in a shock of understanding. “You mean…it’s like…sexual…?” 

Cas sighed deeply, forcing his blood pressure to settle. He didn’t know if the main culprit was arousal or anxiety, but his vessel wasn’t making things easy for him. “Yes, it usually is. Angels’ wings are very sensitive; it’s hard for it not to be stimulating by nature.”

Dean was silent for a moment before responding with a clipped voice. “Gotcha… Well, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, Cas, they just really needed some work and I don’t see how you could do it on your own.” 

“I can’t really reach it all, you are correct. Usually, this process isn’t necessary with my grace intact. You didn’t make me uncomfortable, Dean, I was concerned you would be, though. My vessel is male and I know you consider that taboo.” Cas seemed to be crawling out of his skin. “I didn’t want it to seem as though I were forcing you into that role. Especially with me; I know you don’t—“

“Cas. You’re talking too much,” Dean interrupted. Normally this situation would have Dean squirming, but it looked like Cas was feeling enough discomfort for the both of them. He found it almost amusing. Before now he wasn’t even sure if Cas could experience arousal.  
“Look, I was just helping you out. If wings are that sensitive then, of course, you were feeling a little hot under the collar. It doesn’t have to mean anything, because, fact is, your wings still aren’t clean. So if you think you can sit through it, let’s at least get them back in shape.” Dean surprised himself with his own blasé attitude— maybe he was a little _too_ comfortable with the angel. He would think about that later. Dean let go of Cas’s arm; he hadn’t realized he was still holding onto it.

Cas was slack-jawed. How was Dean seriously not bothered by this? “I—yes, I—“ 

“Alright then. C’mon.” Dean waved him back toward the bed with false bravado and a soapy rag, not checking to see Cas trailing behind lamely.

Dean picked up where he left off; at the crest of Cas’s left wing. He felt the plumes bristle under his touch and did his best to be casual. “So are these some of the cohorts?” He tried to help ease the tension and distract the angel. Cas leaned back on his hands to address Dean; he seemed more relaxed as the moments began slipping past. “Coverts, and, no, that portion is called the alula.” He shivered visibly, and Dean hummed in acknowledgment. Dean spent a little longer combing those feathers than he strictly had to.

Now Cas was distracting himself. “At the base of my wings, the feathers are referred to as ‘scapulars.’” Dean carded through these short feathers and studied the junction between wing and back. Suddenly Dean noticed his fingers were slick and shiny. “Uh, Cas, what’s this?” It smelled musky and sweet, and oddly familiar. 

“Ah, preening oil.” He replied without looking back. "It helps keep my feathers ready for flight; if they become too dry it’s more difficult to stay airborne.” Factual as ever. 

“Where did it come from?” Dean wasn’t quite sure what to do with it but settled for working it into whatever feathers seemed most frazzled. 

“Uropygial glands. Base of my wings.” His voice was low and slack.

Dean followed his directions and found a small nub hidden under the scapular feathers, one on each side. The area around it was much slicker than the rest and Dean began redistributing the substance. Dean noticed Cas’s hands were dug into the bedsheets and his chin hung low against his chest. Dean thought about checking in on him but knew it wouldn’t make a difference and kept going. Better to get it over with.

The soap had cleaned Cas’s wings well but left them dry. Dean was surprised at the difference he saw as he applied the oil throughout the plumes. When Cas extended his wings to give Dean better access, he felt exactly how powerful these appendages were. It reminded Dean that, as familiar and quirky as Cas had become, he was still otherworldly. He was thousands of years older than Dean and had seen creation happen. _Why is he here wasting his time with me,_ Dean thought. _Why does he drop everything and show up when I pray to him?_

Dean was brought out of his thoughts by a low whimper, poorly covered by Cas clearing his throat. Dean had his hands almost buried in the raven-black plumes, and the spiced scent of his oil was intoxicating. He realized that he’d smelled this before— he always catches hints of that musk during his infrequent hugs with Cas. It relaxed something in Dean, who took it in by the discreet lungful. All of Cas’s feathers were standing on end as if he had the chills, making his wings look fluffy and huge. If he was honest, there was more than enough oil throughout his quills, but Dean had never seen Cas like this and he wasn’t quite ready to stop. By now he was in a bit of a trance and was as malleable as a sleepy kitten, his low noises more consistent and less furtive. Dean wasn’t sure why Cas chose to stay so involved in his and Sam’s dangerous lives, but he decided to savor it while he could. Dean breathed him in deeply, silently. 

Cas’s alulae were especially sensitive. That, and the minor coverts closest to his back. Dean found this out as Cas’s hums got higher and breathier the longer he stroked these areas. Dean wouldn’t have had a good excuse if Cas had asked him why he lingered on them. Only that knowing he had an angel of the Lord—no, his angel, Castiel— melting in his hands, ignited something warm in his core. 

Cas stirred under his fingers. “Dean—” 

Hearing his name brought him into reality. Cas was coming undone and Dean could no longer pretend he wasn’t doing it on purpose. Shame rushed to his cheeks and he pulled his hands away instantly.

“Cas, I—I’m sorry I—“ Dean backed off of the bed and hit the wall. He immediately moved toward the door, unable to look at Cas as he pulled it open to the cold September night air. It shut behind him with a harrowing click.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Dean... vulnerability is hard :'(
> 
> Next chapter: time to hash out some feels
> 
> Drop a kudo or a comment if you liked something!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Dean…I feel I must tell you,” Cas interjected, “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do in these…situations. I only know that I…want to touch you. And I want you to touch me.”
> 
> Dean shuddered inside. These words were fantasy.
> 
> “I can do that, Cas.” Barely a whisper. “This is a little new to me too, so we’ll go slow.”
> 
> Dean knew how to have sex. If he knew _anything,_ it was how to have sex. Dudes couldn’t be that much different from the dozens of women Dean had plucked like a violin in his lifetime. He bet he could still make Cas sing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chuck bless you all for your patience. Here's your smut you filthy animals, I hope it floats a boat or two. ;)
> 
> I have no beta, all errors are my own (point out any you find).

Outside, Dean was leaning over the railing at the end of the exterior motel hallway, trying to ignore the swelling at his crotch. The cool air helped, but couldn’t erase what had just happened. Cas had been vulnerable with him; had warned him this that was difficult for him, and Dean had taken advantage of the situation. And for what? What did this leave him with? Blue balls and disgrace on the purest friendship he’d ever had. He beat his fist against the cinderblock wall and muttered a strangled _’dammit.’_

“Dean.” 

He tensed. Cas had stowed his wings and come out shirtless, surely ready to rebuke him. Dean ran his hands over his face and through his hair without looking at the angel. 

“Dean,” Cas started, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let myself be so uninhibited. I put you in a difficult—“

“Cas, what the hell are you talking about?” Dean said, sharply. The angel had a blank look, detailing his incomprehension.

“I’m trying to apologize, Dean. I overstepped.”

“ _You_ overstepped?”

“Yes, I—“

“Cas, I knew what I was doing,” Dean blurted out. A pause. “I pushed you farther anyway.”

Cas was silent long enough that Dean had to look at him. He found wide, intense eyes staring back. “You were doing it on purpose.” It was a realization; a statement. 

“I—yeah, Cas, it just…”

“You _wanted_ to—to…” Cas spoke, barely audible.

Silence. Cas’s eyes began to fall. 

“ _Yeah._ Yeah, Cas, I _wanted_ to.” Dean’s tone was vexed, face contorted into that defensive anger he so easily resorted to. “And _yeah,_ I know you’re a dude.” He sneered. “Maybe that makes me fucking gay, I don’t fucking know. I’m tired of caring. Either way that doesn’t mean…that didn’t give me the right to—you were vulnerable, or whatever, and I— goddammit.” He turned his body away again, his adrenaline-wracked shoulders an impassable barrier between them.

More silence.

Cas was close enough that Dean could hear him breathing, but it sounded more like a snarl than anything. He was seething. Dean knew he deserved whatever Cas could throw at him; it would be minuscule compared to the self-loathing that had come to a boil under his skin. 

“When?” Cas breathed.

“Whe—what do you mean when, Cas—?”

“ _When did you figure it out?”_

Dean didn’t have to guess that Cas meant his sexuality. 

“Dammit, Cas, I don’t know, I guess a part of me always kinda knew.” He still hadn’t looked Cas in the eyes. He paced the exterior motel corridor like a caged animal. “It’s one of the fucked up bits that I don’t want folks knowing about me. I’ve done alright for myself with chicks— if I just don’t think about dudes like that, everything works out fine. Look, Cas, I know I fucked this up with you, but if there’s any way you can forget about this and just…just forget I ever—“   
  
Dean drew up short, startled by the bark that had ripped out of Castiel’s throat. His posture was dark and threatening, and Dean was immediately reminded of his former status as leader of a garrison of heavenly warriors. 

“I grow weary of this pattern, Dean,” he grated out.

If Dean’d had a response to that cryptic complaint, he forgot it the moment Castiel threw him against the cinderblocks and took his mouth. Through the blood rushing in his ears, Dean heard himself pipe out an undignified yelp as his brain caught up. Cas was ruthless; he knew what he wanted and wasn’t asking. His lips tasted electric and left sparks as they trailed down his jaw and latched onto the tender flesh of his neck. 

With a filthy _pop_ , Cas released his suction, pulling his trunk away from Dean. He held him immobile with one hand shoved into his chest; their only point of contact.   
“Do you want this? Do you want me?” Cas’ pupils were blown wide and his voice was a gritty wreck. Dean had felt the hard line pressed against his hip through denim and dress pants. 

He trembled. This was every _wrong_ fantasy he’d had since he was twelve, and Cas had starred in all of them since he’d ripped Dean out of Hell by the shoulder. That handprint-shaped disfigurement ached now in proximity to its maker and Dean’s dick responded behind his fly. 

“Dean. _Answer me_.” 

He choked around a swallow, coughing out what sounded like a cross between ‘yes’ and ‘uh-huh.’ Cas surveyed his expression like a hawk but must have eventually found sincerity because all at once he pulled away and Dean began slipping down the wall before his knees caught him. 

“Then go inside,” Cas said, pointing at their still-open entryway. 

Cas was not unkind, but he left little room for argument. Dean was too stunned to look away from him even as he followed his orders, eventually stumbling into the room by Braille. He stood stock-still, facing Cas as the angel came behind and locked the sage green motel door. 

Cas took two long steps to find Dean where he stood, unmoving, his calves pressed against the bed. In a second Cas sought out his lips again and found purchase. He reveled in the feel of Dean’s coarse stubble scraping through his own, and the breathy, kiss-mumbled drone of Dean’s need. Dean gave as good as he got, unsure of his movements but certain in his excitement. His skin lit on fire when he felt Cas’ first brush of fingers under the hem of his shirt. 

There was so much going on and he barely knew where to focus. Cas’ shirt was already off, maybe he should be touching him more? So far Dean’s hands hadn’t strayed from the forearms rested on his collarbones after Cas’ fingers had wound through his hair. Their hips were flush and it wasn’t difficult to feel Cas’ arousal; Dean was equally hard and his cock had begun aching sharply. Should they be sitting on the bed by now? How far did Cas expect this to go? Did he know what sex between two men _meant?_

“Dean?”

His breathing was light and fast and he’d stopped reciprocating Castiel’s kisses without realizing it. 

“Dean, you’re shaking. Are you okay?”

Cas’ hands had moved to the base of his neck where one of his thumbs felt for Dean’s pulse. Huh. He _was_ shaking; like a chihuahua.

“Your heart rate is quite high. Please say something?”

The worry in Cas’ voice finally pushed through Dean’s haze and he took a deep gulp of air, fingers releasing what had been a death grip on Cas’ forearms. 

“S-sorry…”

Cas’ face fell as he let out a breath and stepped away from Dean.

“You’re still not ready for this. I pushed you, hoping that your realization had been enough, but clearly I was wrong.” There was no accusation in Cas’ words, but there was disappointment aplenty. “Forgive me, Dean.”

Dean’s heart spasmed as he watched Cas moving away from him. 

“ _No!_ No… Cas, don’t leave, I’m sorry! I’m okay!” He had lurched forward to grip the angel around his biceps. He knew he must have had a wild-eyed look. “It—there was just a lot going on, I didn’t—I couldn’t think straight. Please don’t leave.” He tightened his grip. 

Cas eyed him. “You were nearing a panic attack, Dean…”

Dean huffed out a mirthless laugh. “Well, ya got my heart rate up, bud, that happens… Look,” Dean took Cas’ hand and guided it to his own neck, pressing against his carotid. “your blood’s pumpin’ pretty hard right now too. Not much angel grace to tamp that down.” 

Cas considered his traitorous arteries with a frown. “Oh…indeed.”

“We’ve got a lot of adrenaline runnin’ on overdrive right now. I just got a little overwhelmed. I didn’t…I didn’t think I’d ever get this. Not with you.” 

Cas squinted, tilting his head. “You’ve always had it. I’ve been waiting for you to realize it’s okay to want it.”

Dean was silent a moment. Of course, Cas had known… he’d rifled through Dean’s thoughts plenty of times over the years. It was probably impossible not to bump into his poorly-concealed emotions at some point. 

He pushed through his embarrassment. “If you’ve known for so long, why didn’t you say something before now? _God_ , you must be so sick of me.”

“I can wait until your feelings are clear. I don’t want you attributing them to anything outside of yourself; you would find some way to explain them away. I would never make you do anything you didn’t want to,” he finished, softly.

Dean moved into his space. He could feel his own body heat returning to him, mixed with Cas’.   
“What if my…feelings…are clear now?”

Cas sucked in a breath, very obviously trying to restrict himself despite Dean’s proximity and lowered voice. Dean’s eyes dropped to Cas’ mouth and it became clear what to expect next.

“Dean…I feel I must tell you,” Cas interjected, “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do in these…situations. I only know that I…want to touch you. And I want you to touch me.”

Dean shuddered inside. These words were fantasy.

“I can do that, Cas.” Barely a whisper. “This is a little new to me too, so we’ll go slow.”

Dean knew how to have sex. If he knew anything, it was how to have sex. Dudes couldn’t be that much different from the dozens of women Dean had plucked like a violin in his lifetime. He bet he could still make Cas sing. 

Dean swung his friend easily around and helped him land on the edge of the bed. He pressed a hand on Cas’ chest to get him to scoot back and make room for them to sit face to face. Dean kissed him sweetly, just a press of lips and a soft intake of breath. A pause, then he drew Cas’ bottom lip into his mouth with gentle suction. The angel’s hands found Dean’s knees in a tight grip. Dean finally touched Cas; his thumb and forefinger canting his face in the direction he wanted it to go. He looked at Cas with dark, hooded eyes and found him wrecked. Dean’s mouth lifted at the corner, the very picture of smugness, before tilting Cas’ head back and away, giving him access to the smooth neck below. He kitten-licked a stripe down Cas’ tendon, shivering when a graveled sigh was delivered straight into his ear. 

Dean slipped his hand into Cas’ dark hair and made a loose fist. When he tugged him backward Cas went willingly, leaning against the bed on his elbows while Dean moved past his clavicle and left a cool swathe of spit-slicked skin.

His tongue found Cas’ left nipple, raised and surrounded by goosebumps. Dean laved over the crux lazily and came back to suck it deep into his mouth, teasing with short flicks of his tongue inside. Cas bowed up towards his attentions and pressed Dean closer. Dean closed his teeth around Cas’ nipple and let the flesh drag out from between them as he pulled away, leaving Cas to buck and gasp.

 _S_ _ee, dudes like the nipple stuff, too,_ thought Dean.

Cas was outright whimpering now. His head was thrown back with a tightly-drawn brow; he wasn’t saying much coherently. 

“Tell me what you want, Cas.” Dean had realigned himself with the angel so he could whisper salaciously into his ear, all the while softly kneading his other nipple between a thumb and knuckle. 

A low whine. “I—I don’t know, I…”

Dean pressed a firm finger in the center of Cas’ chest and began dragging it downward. “You just want my hands on you, don’t you?” His finger had reached Cas’ navel and dipped briefly in, then kept moving on its path. Cas frantically nodded his head. Down to his waistband. The crease of his thigh, and past. A whimper. “Ohh, don’t tell me,” Dean teased, “maybe you want to be touched here?” Dean rounded his finger back upward and dragged it over the hard line of Cas’ shaft through fabric. Cas keened and convulsed in frustration.  
“Hm, my mistake; must not be that.” 

A sharp growl was all the warning Dean had before he was flipped violently and dragged up the bed with a yelp. Cas swung a leg over Dean’s form, straddling him crotch-to-crotch. 

“You tease me as though you have no concept of how long, how _badly_ I have wanted this,” Cas hissed, emphasizing his words with unpracticed rolls of his hips.

Copying Dean’s earlier move, Cas tugged Dean into a sitting position by his hair before feverishly stripping his two shirts off and shoving him back down. Dean offered only wide-eyed, hungry compliance as Cas moved on to his jeans and eventually dragged those away, too. Cas pushed his erection into Dean’s hip like a man on a mission but seethed when he found himself unsatisfied.

“You’re forgetting these, champ,” Dean offered helpfully, tugging at Cas’ belt loop. The angel only grunted and flopped angrily onto the bed beside Dean to wriggle out of his snakeskin. 

Dean had seen men naked. Locker rooms, tight quarters with Sammy, porn… hell, he’d even admit to the occasional Pornhub search without the ladies. But he had thirsted after no man the way his body now told him he needed Cas. It was instinctual, like breathing; inevitable, like death…or, perhaps, birth. Because that’s exactly what this was; the birth of _Dean and Cas_ , of _Cas and Dean._

Cas was already back on top of him when he was cognizant again; in fact, it was the drag of hard, warm, naked flesh where he wanted it the most that had brought him back to reality. He sucked in a deep breath and released it in a slow moan as his hands found purchase on Cas’ fever-hot skin. 

“Ohh, Dean…” Cas’ frantic movements had slowed upon finding his aim. Now, he languidly dragged his entire trunk along Dean’s, each pull ending with an easy upward cant of his hips, their light sheen slicking the way. It was dirty and sensual and only got better once Cas dropped his mouth to connect with Dean’s. It was almost too much, and simultaneously not enough. 

Cas grew frustrated again once that movement was no longer enough. He gritted out a chorus of Dean’s name, unsure what he was asking for but certain he wasn’t getting it. 

“Okay baby, okay,” Dean cooed, only pausing momentarily when he registered the accidental pet name. He wormed his arm between them to take their cocks in his fist and create some friction. Cas shivered and bucked into Dean’s hand with a cry, followed by a low hum. “That’ss itt…” Dean hissed. 

Cas was still restless. “ _Dean!”_ He complained, apropos of nothing. 

“Cas, are you wanting to go all the way? Do you want to fuck?” Dean spoke as he might have to a child who was pitching a fit, too frustrated to use his words; an odd contrast to the content of his question. 

“I don’t—what do you m—“

“Anal sex, _Cas._ One guy puts it in the other.” His face was stupidly warm for how naked he already was. 

Cas gasped like he’d finally thought of a word that had been eluding him.

“Dean, _yes_ , I want you inside me, _please_ ,” Cas utterly begged. 

Oh. Dean hadn’t even let himself think of this possibility. He’d have let Cas fuck him. 

“Are you sure, Cas? I mean—“

“DEAN,” Cas barked. 

“Okay, okay!” Cas was already rising up on his heels and trying to press Dean’s cock head into his opening. He grimaced. 

“Cas! Hey, hold up! There’s a way we have to do this, baby,” Dean placated. Cas gave him a _'f_ _ine, then do that_ ' look and Dean rolled his eyes in amusement. 

Dean pulled Cas onto him and rolled them over. He pushed his knees between Cas’ and guided his legs up underneath his chin. Cas was a sight. His hard cock pulled tight to his stomach, drooling pre-come in a smear wherever it moved. Below his testicles, Dean saw Cas’ hole tensing and relaxing in anticipation. _Shit_ — they needed lube.

“Cas, uh, bring your wings out really quick,” Dean asked.

Cas smirked breathily, laughing. “Did you see something you liked, Dean?”

“Shaddap and just trust me, Feathers.” Dean swatted his ass playfully.

Cas hooked an arm around Dean’s neck, drawing himself up, with some help, into Dean’s lap. The smell of petrichor seeped into the room and Dean’s hair stood on end as he heard the sound of a carpet being shaken and the weight in his lap almost doubled. He shivered when he blinked and saw the great, big, hulking, black appendages stretch out from either side of his smirking angel. Dean immediately buried his hands to the wrist in the dark plumage, evoking a shameless moan from their owner. 

“You like that so much. And you were being so good earlier, trying not to let me see.”

Cas whined his acknowledgment. 

“I bet I could take you apart just like this, couldn’t I?” Cas melted as Dean took his right nipple into his mouth and dug his fingers into the muscles closest to his back. Cas’ erection jumped and wept out more thick streams of pre-come. Dean felt a wetness on his fingers and inched his way back to Cas’ dripping uropygial glands. He massaged them in circles like he would with a clit and Cas reacted similarly. He dropped his head to Dean’s neck and locked his teeth there, unyielding. Dean’s left hand continued ministrations on Cas’ left gland, while his other hand took the proffered wetness southward. When he circled Cas’ rim with the musky oil the angel keened and moaned around his mouthful of Dean’s skin. 

Dean slipped his middle finger in up to the second knuckle while murmuring sweet encouragement and delivering little licks to Cas’ ear. Cas was clenching around his fingers but seemed not to be bothered. The angle was awkward for Dean’s wrist, but he got two fingers partly in before he had to reposition his angel back onto the bed. 

Dean wouldn’t lie and say he knew what he was doing, but he also couldn’t say he didn’t know how good a finger in the ass could feel (God bless you, Rhonda Hurley). With Cas on his back, he had a better angle. If he could just find the right spot…

“AH!” Cas jumped and writhed below Dean and his cock flexed rhythmically but stopped before producing any liquid. “What…? Wh—“

“God’s gift to adventurous men, Cas,” Dean spoke into his ear with a laugh, pleased he’d elicited such a reaction. 

“Do it again, please…” he keened.

Dean crooked his fingers just right and pulled them sharply against the front wall of Cas’ cavity, to great effect. Cas was all but babbling by the time Dean slid his digits out, sometime later. This was met with a harsh rebuke ( _“Why would you stop doing that, Dean, do you wish to drive me mad?”_ ) until Cas understood what was to take the place of the fingers ( _“Oh, please, Dean, please, yes,”_ ). 

It was moments like these that made Dean understand what an emotional bastard he really was because sinking to the hilt into Cas’ warmth was nirvana. And he didn’t mean the band. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from Cas’ blue-black gaze and he devoured the squeak he made when Dean was fully seated inside. 

“You ‘kay?” Dean breathed.

In response, Cas held out his arms like a child and Dean went willingly into his hold. He buried his face between Cas’ jaw and collarbone when he made his first, slow pull, Cas wrapped firmly around his shoulders. He could smell the earthy scent of Cas’ wings this close. They made sounds Dean would be ashamed of tomorrow, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care right then. He just let them roll out of him like a breath. 

“I’ve— waited—“ Cas gasped out between their fevered thrusts, “for this—for you—“

“So long.” Dean finished. This was a lot to process all at once, but dammit, this was not the time to feel tears pricking his eyes. But, of course, he did. 

“Shh, shh…” 

How Cas had picked up on the tears, Dean didn’t know, but it probably had something to do with being an angel and all. He didn’t make Dean talk about it; he didn’t assume they needed to stop. He just held him tightly, wings coming around to warm him from every direction.

Dean moved slowly, offering his thanks by targeting his thrusts. Cas was quickly coming undone, and Dean knew it. He wouldn’t keep him waiting; he deserved to feel good. 

“Dean…!” Cas looked a little anxious suddenly, and his wings flared out at his side.

“I know baby, it’s a good thing,” Dean shushed, reaching between them to pull on Cas’ throbbing erection, “let it build. Let go. It’s a good thing.”

Cas drew up into an arch a little more with every thrust until he was taut, eyes rolled back, hands fisted into the sheets, and then with a huff, he was coming. Streaks of white erupted past Dean’s grip, marking Cas’ heaving belly and chest. Cas took in great gulps of air as his hands found their way into Dean’s hair, and then he watched as Dean crumpled to his chest and pulsed into Cas’ body with stilted thrusts and a cracked voice. 

They were almost still; Dean still rocked minutely into Cas in a barely-there sort of way, and Cas’ index finger scratched a light pattern into the short hairs behind Dean’s ear. They breathed deeply in tandem. 

“ _Oh my God_ ,” breathed Dean.

“He was not involved here, Dean.” 

“Heh,” laughed Dean, “good thing, too. Didn’t think to ask his permission before we…did…that.”

Cas chuckled, taking that for the satirical comment it was meant to be, and Dean reflected on how much the angel had learned in the time he’d known him. It was a comfortable silence, and Dean slipped down into the crook of Cas’ arm, pillowed by the downy black wing beneath him.

“I, uh…so you’ve really known all this time? About me liking dudes, I mean,” Dean ventured.

Cas hummed. “Yes, I suppose. I only really thought about it once I realized how harshly you treat yourself because of it. It never changed anything for me. Except, perhaps, to make me grateful, since I had ended up inhabiting Jimmy instead of a female vessel.”

Dean was silent a moment before speaking again. “I’m a really dumbass, aren’t I?”

“No, Dean, you had generations of bigotry impressed upon you from an early age. That fostered your self-loathing. I knew it would take some time.”

Dean soaked up the compassion Cas was feeding him. It’s the kind he knew he might expect from him, and probably Sam, too, but also the kind he’d never allowed himself to believe he deserved. Dean felt like a walking contradiction. Hearing this empathy offered so freely was oddly painful. Dean understood he wouldn’t be satisfied until he’d aired one last thing.

“Cas.”

“Yes, Dean,” came the soft reply.

He played with the fine hairs smattering Cas’ chest. “You know it’s not just about me liking guys, right? That you’re more than that to me, more than an experiment?” Dean cringed. _God_ , that lacked eloquence.

“Yes, Dean. I know.” Cas stroked circles on his handprint scar. The alulae of his left wing tickled along Dean's elbow.

Dean could hear his human heartbeat. It didn’t falter.

“Cas.”

An inviting silence.

“Will you stay?”

“You have me, Dean.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally wrote Cas in a much more subdued way. As I was editing I realized that he desperately wanted to lose his patience with Dean, and who was I to deny him? SO, I re-wrote 1,000 words and added 2,000 after that. I hope this reads true to their characters.
> 
> Let me now what you think! Y'all have been privy to my maiden voyage into the ficdom world and I love you all for it <3  
> Leave a kudos if I floated your boat ;)
> 
> ~UA


	4. Artwork in progress

Not a real chapter, sorry to disappoint. I've been working on some illustrations for this work, but my time is suuuuuuper limited and, realistically, I wanted to drop the progress here before this fic becomes irrelevant. 😅

I'd love to do a thousand of these. Throw smutty Destiel goodness around like confetti. Or, maybe just one per chapter. But I'm also still figuring out digital artwork as a whole; my mediums have always been physical. 

What's a scene from this fic that you'd _most_ want to see illustrated?? Get graphic, my dudes.

Love you bitches sm per usual. Your comments are the air I breathe.

~UA


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